Ravens
by AlphaOmega92
Summary: The once-great human civilization has been all but erased in nuclear fire, forcing those that remain on its surface to fight for survival. But there are a few who, like their kin before the bombs fell, wish to do more than survive.


**This is my new Fallout project, Ravens. Though The Gathering Storm is nowhere near finished, I've put it on infinite hiatus. I'd like to try my hand at a more traditional Fallout story, and this idea has been burning in my head for almost half a year now. So read, review, and enjoy.**

**Prologue**

Long ago, there was a civilization of creatures born from the earth. Striding forward from their primitive caves on two legs, they faced the horrors of a savage world. Against all odds, these peculiar creatures survived, spreading across the globe to build nations and empires, brick by brick, from the wilderness. They continued ever onward, through war and strife, famine and disease, and death and destruction. The creatures reached a new evolutionary paradigm; they became people. Surpassing their inherit nature to survive, the people thrived…pursuing dreams and reaching for the stars themselves. Then the earth was bathed in nuclear fire, and the clock was set back to zero. All their achievements, all of the monuments and testaments to their great will were erased from the planet's surface, or buried by radioactive dust, and Time itself. Though the creatures survived, the experience scarred them almost irreparably. The people became animals once again, and though the bones of their once great society lay all around them, refused to dream.

[*]

Kyle mounted the pile of rubble, his boots causing tiny avalanches of pebbles to cascade to the floor below. The heap almost reached the roof above him, and he had to duck his head as he reached the top. A sliver of darkness between the rubble and the door jamb was the only indication that a doorway existed under the pile of concrete and rebar. Reaching inside his coat, Kyle withdrew a battered flashlight, shining its light into the opening. He couldn't see much, but there were no signs of motion, so he deemed it was safe to continue.

Examining his surroundings once more, Kyle tested a large slab of concrete at the top of the rubble. The piece shifted slightly. Resetting his feet, he took a deep breath and pushed with all his might. The chunk was heavier than he expected, and it barely moved. Kyle paused, panting heavily. He tried again, throwing his shoulder into the slab. The chunk toppled forward into the room, filling the air with dust. Kyle coughed and retreated back down the hill, drawing his handgun. Shining the light into the room, he waited until the haze settled before entering.

The room had been an office at some point, complete with a stamped-metal desk, rolling chair, and a set of file cabinets. There was a disturbing lack of windows, panels of fluorescent lights the only source of illumination. Those bulbs had long since burnt out, leaving Kyle's flashlight the only source of illumination in the room. There was little of value in the office: some electronics manuals in the cabinets, and a stack of pre-war bills and a silver flask in the desk. Searching the rest of the room, Kyle happened upon a radio on a table in the corner. Radio parts were hard to come by, and an intact set would fetch a good price back in town. All of it went into the satchel on his shoulder, except the flask, from which he sampled it contents. He coughed in surprise at the strength of the whiskey inside. Of course, it had been fermenting for over two-hundred years.

He sat back in the chair, propping his feet up on the desk. Rifling through his pack, Kyle withdrew a collection of comic books he had gathered during his scavenging runs through the Wasteland. Gripping the flashlight between his teeth, he flipped through one of his favorites, _Washington Smith and the City of Gold. _The brightly colored pages were faded and crinkled, and Kyle had restored the discolored text by going over it with an old ink-pen. He had memorized every word and image, and yet the comic still filled him with a sense of wonder. Embarking on wild adventures, meeting beautiful girls and finding ancient treasures…Washington Smith did it all. He wanted to live like his comic-book hero, discovering lost cities and defeating villainous scoundrels. Kyle was sick of scavenging old office buildings, looking for the parts his town needed for its survival. He wanted to stop living like a rat, and start living like a human being.

Something in his pack crackled, a muffled voice coming through amongst bits of static. Kyle pulled out his short-wave radio, adjusting the antenna to remove the interference.

"…le, you there? Kyle! Respond!"

He spat out his flashlight and brought the radio to his mouth.

"Yeah, I'm here. Third floor's done. Didn't find much save an old radio set. Looks functional."

"Come on down…we need to head back. It's almost dark." The voice responded gruffly.

"On my way Paps." Kyle replied, clicking the device off.

Kyle collected his things and placed them back in the pack. He shouldered his bag and took up his flashlight once more, climbing up the hill of rubble and retracing his way back to the ground floor. _Someday, I'm gonna on my own adventure. _He told himself, just as he always did. _Someday, I'm just gonna up and leave, and never look back._


End file.
